Tormarton to BATH!

Last night's lodgings were pretty basic, to say the least, but sometimes shelter from the rain is enough. The final stretch was fifteen miles by one account, sixteen by another, but it turned out to be 20.52, which is a lot of miles, in case you want to know.

Mr. snail had a good breakfast and is enjoying the early morning wetness:









Too bad that I did not learn how to use the zoom until we were in Bath because a close-up of the grass, studded with large dew drops is beautiful. Do enlarge the shot to get the effect:







A friend emerged to join the trek:







A hen and her chicks:





Once in a while, one is reminded of civilization:







Then it is back to fields and sky:







We saw lots of this. Oats? Barley? Wheat? (Probably not wheat, but what do I know?)






A break from the rain in a field of the grain (as shown above):







Some of the dry stone walls have fallen into disrepair. What a pity. They are so much more beautiful than barbed wire:









A bower of roses:






What an enticing place for a nap and a snack:







This here stone pig does guard duty. He certainly has that je ne sais quois:








I wonder what happens when the lorries and coaches ring that number. After all, in case of a flat, there are lots of spare tires right there:






By and by we arrived at—are you ready for this—Pennsylvania. The guide book said that at Pennsylvania there was a gas station. The book was right about that. There was not one other thing!






We were so looking forward to getting to Cold Ashton, some eight miles along, where we had planned to partake of refreshment. But AGAIN, as at Ferrybridge, the oasis turned out to be an abandoned watering hole. How disappointing!








Then we missed a sign, which is really easy to do, especially when it seems sensible to continue straight along what looks to be a major path. Not only did that error add a mile to an already very long day, it took us a difficult spot. There was a choice: either cross a cattle grid with nothing to hold on to (which Wendy did since her boots spanned two rungs) or go through a horrendously muddy patch, which I did, with the following result:







For some creatures, however, the mud poses no problem:






When we realized our error, we had to renavigate said awful mess. Why I did not think of this way of getting across the first time, I do not know:







We trudged through the fields where the Battle of Lansdown was fought in 1643. It seems that the people fighting the battle did not have much idea why they were so engaged at the moment, but one must do one's duty, so fight they did. (FYI, the account is worth reading.)








As a memorial to the battle, these fancy orange metal standards were erected to mark the Cotswald Way for a bit:







When you are having a V E R Y long day, it may be best to leave your house behind:







We walked from 8:20 a.m. until 7:45 p.m. with just a few short breaks, doffing and donning the rain gear all day, as has become the custom. Finally, muddy, very muddy, and weary, we arrived at our lovely inn in Bath, home for the next three nights. It was almost an embarrassment to show up so un-respectable looking, but our hosts could not have been nicer. They took our muddy gators and rain pants for washing, and offered to drive us to a local restaurant for dinner. But we pleaded for cereal, fruit, and milk instead, which they supplied in abundance. It was a welcoming and happy conclusion to a beautiful, beautiful walk.








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